Page 9 of Lord Gabriel’s Undoing

She nodded, trying hard not to blush but failing miserably. Why was it blushing was something one couldn’t control? Best to ignore it. “Oh yes. It’s not just being at a ball that’s rendered me so clumsy. I’m like it much of the time. I was born clumsy, Aunt Fanny says.”

Although that wasn’t quite true. She’d become a lot clumsier since she’d come to live with Aunt Fanny, and indeed, had mastered horse riding back at Coakham with no problem at all. Papa had said she had a natural seat. She’d never been clumsy around a horse. But that wasn’t much use at a ball. Not many horses at balls unless you counted the carriage horses waiting outside, and no one was going to let her ride one of them.

It quite surprised her how easy he was to talk to. Although she was probably saying too much and Aunt Fanny would accuse her of being impolite and silly. However, the relief of being able to be honest about how she truly felt was running away with her. And on top of that, a tiny hope had already taken root that he was being so kind to her out of more than ordinary politeness.

Could it perhaps be because he liked her? She could but hope.

Aunt Fanny had drummed into her that the Season was all about finding a husband. She’d told her firmly that one should be polite and sweet to any gentleman who showed an interest, and not monopolise any conversations. On the contrary, one should be sure and ask all about the gentlemen, because they liked above all to talk about themselves. And one should show an interest in everything a gentleman said, and hope that he would show an interest in one in return.

But…was this quite what Aunt Fanny had meant by taking an interest? She would probably strongly disapprove of the confession with which she’d vouchsafed him. In fact, she might have a fit of the vapors if she discovered Phoebe had confided how much she didn’t like balls to the eminently eligible son of a duke.

A smile twitched his mouth. “Don’t tell me you are as clumsy in other things as well? Although that would be quite charming, I’m sure.”

More annoying blushing at his suggestion her clumsiness could be charming. He was very good at saying the right things.

She might as well come clean. “Aunt Fanny says in everything. She chides me that I can’t write a letter without blotting the paper. Not once, but several times. In the school room my hands were always stained with ink. And if I’m given a cup of tea to hold, there is a great danger I will drop it. And if there is an ornament in a room, however well hidden, the chances are that if I am in the room for long, I’ll manage to break it. My aunt despairs of me.” At least, this had been her life for the last three years. So much so that she’d almost forgotten those halcyon days when she hadn’t been so plagued by clumsiness.

He chuckled. “That is a veritable litany of disasters, I must admit.”

For some reason she wasn’t offended by his amusement. “I must assure you, my lord, that none of this is funny when it happens. My aunt has taken to putting away her most treasured possessions lest I manage to knock them over, and watches me like a hawk if we are invited to visit her friends. I must own it’s very stressful for me, because being watched, as I am tonight, only serves to make me far worse. Your toes must surely provide the evidence of that.”

His smile became a rueful grin. “They are in agreement with you.” He paused and rubbed his smooth chin.

She wondered how fair his beard might be should he allow it to grow, and that only made her blush more. Hopefully he might mistake her pink cheeks for her normal coloration.

He smiled. He had a delightful smile, wide and carefree as though nothing at all ever worried him, and it made his eyes twinkle in the reflected light of the chandeliers. Oh, to be like that. He laid his free hand over her captive one. Its warmth sent a delightful tingle through her body. “Might you be better if you were to dance all alone? I mean, just with me in an empty ballroom. Might you like to do that?”

Good heavens! Of course she would! The thought of dancing with him like that brought fresh heat to her cheeks. She must look as though she’d had her head in a bread oven. She couldn’t quite be certain if the blush was caused by his words or because she’d decided she very much liked him. She didn’t want to admit it was the latter, as surely, she would be disappointed when the only time she’d ever see him again would be across a ballroom, when he was dancing with some other young lady who wouldn’t leave him with bruised toes.

She gathered her well-scattered thoughts, preparing the inevitable excuse. “Unfortunately, I fear it would make no difference. My clumsiness is not something I can control. I must have been born like it, although it seems to have worsened with age. Of course, my dear mama didn’t chide me for it the way Aunt Fanny does, and together we found it quite funny. But, after she died, which I must hasten to point out was not due to any of my clumsiness, in case you were thinking it was, my new governess, Miss Hailsham took over for a while. She was remarkable for her patience with my continued insurmountable problem.” She didn’t add that Miss Hailsham’s scolding had exacerbated the problem, and Aunt Fanny, with her constant surveillance and irritated tutting, had only made it ten times worse. That would have been disloyal.

A young couple similarly promenading around the room approached them.

The man was tall with curling brown hair and eyes so dark as to have been almost black. These managed to bestow upon him a rather sinister air that reminded Phoebe of someone else she’d seen that evening, as did the haughty smile that curved his lips in something approaching a sneer. He might have been almost as handsome as Gabriel, had it not been for his supercilious air and the coldness of those eyes. The young lady on his arm was somewhat horse-faced, with wide, admiring eyes fixed on her beau. She looked like a vacuous idiot. Not that Phoebe would have said that to anyone, but she was allowed to think it.

“Wycliff,” the young man said, his eyes running over Phoebe by Gabriel’s side and now hanging on tightly to his arm. Determined to appear confident, she stiffened her spine and looked the newcomer in the eye. Which was hard as he appeared to be looking down the front of her gown.

“Evesham,” Gabriel returned. “Miss Hollingshead. How very lovely you look this evening.”

Phoebe chanced a glance at Gabriel. He clearly knew these two. Not that she herself knew anyone at all. Who was this sinister young man? Only now he was smiling he looked much improved. His smile rather reminded her of Gabriel’s, only she had the feeling this one was nowhere near as sincere. He did not possess Gabriel’s relaxed and rather devil-may-care attitude. This thought rather pleased her as she’d already decided she didn’t like this Evesham.

“You have the advantage of me,” Evesham said, keeping his eyes on Phoebe. “You know my partner, but I don’t know yours.”

Phoebe felt Gabriel stiffen beside her. So perhaps he wasn’t quite as relaxed as she thought. “Lady Phoebe Nicholson, may I introduce you to Viscount Evesham. And Miss Hollingshead.”

Phoebe bobbed an awkward curtsy as Evesham bowed and Miss Hollingshead returned the curtsy. Was she mistaken or did Gabriel not like this young man? Her curiosity aroused, she looked from one man’s face to the other.

Evesham spoke first. “Might I trouble you, Lady Phoebe, to write my name on your dance card? I should be most delighted if you would consent to dance the cotillion with me. It’s quite one of my favorites.”

It wasn’t going to be after she’d trampled on his toes. She didn’t say that, of course, but bowed her head in submission and fetched out her dance card and pencil, wishing the ground would swallow her up right now. At least she’d wanted to dance with Lord Gabriel because she’d seen him as her ideal man. But the newcomer in front of her sent nervous shivers down her back. She most certainly did not want to dance with him but short of being rude she was going to have to.

Evesham took the pencil, his fingers brushing hers as he did so, and wrote his name on the card with a flourish. “I shall look forward to that, Lady Phoebe.” He bowed again. “Wycliff.” And he and Miss Hollingshead moved on.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Phoebe looked up at Gabriel. “Who was that?”

He raised his eyebrows, back to his relaxed self. “Evesham? Oh, a friend of my brother’s. They were at Eton and Oxford together.”

“I realize that is his name,” Phoebe said, a little annoyed. “What I mean is, who is he? If I have to dance with him, then I think I need to know. And you now know that I do not like to dance at all. Not with anyone.”